Stitch Talk
by thedancingcrown
Summary: Stitching up his older brother's wound post-mission, Tim makes a discovery. (rated T for safety)


_A/N:_ I fear I must confess I actually know _zip_ about wounds or stitches or stitching - never had any, though I did participate in the removal of some once, and I did a little YouTube research *shrug* In any case, it was really the character relationships and dialogue that made me write this in the wee hours of the night, and I'm posting it because otherwise no one will ever read it and it ends up being another wasted hour I could have spent working (or maybe even sleeping...). So. Enjoy.

* * *

Tim chewed at his bottom lip as he concentrated, very carefully piercing pale skin with a perfectly steady hand and threading the curved needle through.

He was barely getting started on the third stitch, only just ready to puncture the other side of the yawning gap he meant to close, when the arm he was working on gave an unexpected jerk – potentially an involuntary flinch his patient had been resisting until just then – and Tim missed his mark, poking at the wound with the needle's sharp point instead.

"Argh!" Jason exclaimed, his arm jerking again, but coming away unscathed as Tim had pulled back his hand in a rush. "The _hell_ are you doing back there?"

Tim glanced up from where he sat crouched beside the couch, Jason seated half against the armrest, half against the back so Tim could get at the gash starting at his upper arm and crossing toward his back.

Jason was scowling down at him when Tim met his eyes, but Jason's glare could hardly faze him, truth be told. He'd been on the receiving end of it too many times for it to have an impact anymore – for one thing – and for another, it was – _all of it _– entirely Jason's own fault anyway.

Still, he hadn't really meant to stab Jason with a needle, so common decently dictated he apologize – he was already starting even as Jason snapped at him, "Sorry," he shifted a little on his knees, sat up a little straighter. "But you need to hold still."

"Yeah, well, it kind of stings," Jason snapped again, but with a lot less bite this time.

"I could dig up some anaesthetic…" Tim wheedled, a little smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Jason had refused, of course, mumbled about fuzzy heads – which was not necessarily even relevant, Tim thought – and not being a baby – to which Tim had discreetly rolled his eyes when Jason wasn't looking.

Tim could almost understand, when he thought about it, but it wasn't every day he got to tease his pseudo older brother, though, and some demented little part of his soul he'd never admit to possessing, kind of enjoyed the look on Jay's face whenever that happened.

Jason made a dismissive noise, "Not unless it's booze, kid."

Tim snorted, rolled his eyes and shook his head, not missing Jason's glance at him or the grin his brother sported at seeing his reaction. "I didn't think so," Jason said matter-of-factly. "Besides – what's that thing Dickiebird always gets at? 'I took the cut – I can take the stitch'?"

"That's the one," Tim confirmed. "Word for word," he finally started on the knot. "Only, this was a shot, not a cut."

"Eh, tomato-potato," Jason dismissed, his other hand appearing in Tim's peripheral vision as it waved through the air – and came to rest on a creamy coloured shoulder.

Tim's gaze shifted, his hands pausing in their work.

Dark hair bundled up against Jason's right leg, against which she'd rested her head – presumably to take a nap; almost a week's worth of training, following leads, chasing bad guys and getting too little sleep finally catching up on her.

When he'd heard – very faintly – Cassandra shifting on the couch earlier he'd assumed as much. Only, he'd also assumed she'd lain down in the other direction. Busying himself with the First Aid on the floor next to him at the time, he hadn't seen. Hadn't thought about it. So engrossed in his work, he hadn't even considered – why would he?

Because he was supposed to be the damn Detective. That's why.

Hadn't considered Jason's hand on her shoulder, either, and the image – Jason's fingertips trailing absently a little this way and that across her skin – was somehow mindboggling and fascinating and incredibly weird all at the same time.

"What?" Jason's voice snapped Tim from his daze, genuine perplexity in the older man's tone as if he had no idea what Tim was seeing. Jason's fingers slowed to a halt just as Tim whipped his head about to look up at the man, dark brows raised in waiting.

"What 'what'? Nothing," Tim asked and answered in a rush, ducking his head and getting back to his stitching.

But he could feel Jason's confused gaze still aimed at him, turning into another annoyed scowl and Tim knew it was dawning on him.

"Y'know, Baby Bird," he bristled. "If you have something to say, I really rather you just get it off your chest."

"Don't call me that," Tim replied almost mechanically, almost unintentionally, poising the needle to start on the next suture.

There was a snort and a sound that may have been the start of some jibe or another, but Jason cut himself off abruptly and Tim figured he'd caught on to the meaning of the reprimand.

'Baby Bird' was a title no longer belonging to him, and he had no right to go back to it even if he was, technically, back to being the 'baby' of the Bat family.

Tim was almost done with his stitch when Jason said, just above a whisper, "…Sorry."

Tim didn't know what to say to that though, didn't feel like conjuring up a reply even if he could, because really, he just didn't want to broach the subject and whatever feelings it might end up stirring.

He figured Jason didn't want to, either.

His older so-called sibling wasn't giving up the other thing, though, when he said another stitch later, "Still meant what I said though," he half grumbled. Tim glanced at his hand on Cass's arm and the only way he could describe it was – possessive. "You got something to say…"

Tim swallowed past the thick, uneasy feeling in his throat and held his tongue, finishing off another stitch before he replied, "I have nothing to say."

He shrugged, faking nonchalance.

But, of course, Jason wasn't buying it.

"You know, for a first class _Pretender_," and whether his tone was truly scathing, or whether that was just general Jason, Tim suddenly couldn't tell. "You sure are an awful liar."

"You wouldn't like it," Tim said, honestly then, and, in fact, he wasn't certain he'd like it either.

He didn't want to discuss this subject, if he was any more honest, because, it was just weird.

Jason bristled at his reply, something akin to a low growl at the back of his throat, and the man seemed to sink deeper into his seat.

Tim frowned, but said nothing. Jason made no reply either and the silence dragged on until Tim was snipping off excess thread on Jason's twelfth and final stitch.

"Tim—"

"She's special, Jason," Tim cut him off shortly, before he'd even planned on speaking. Needle, thread and other items in one hand, the First Aid kit in the other, Tim got to his feet. "Don't hurt her."

"Oh, come on, kid!" Jason scathed at his back, but when he spoke again his tone gave Tim pause, and he halted in his trek towards the bathroom. "I _wouldn't_."

It was firm, and…almost offended – in a defensive, nearly, _hurt_, sort of way, Tim mused, that he even _thought_ such a thing about his older brother.

Tim turned half around and regarded Jason, who was leaning around the back of the couch to look at him as well, face serious.

"Good." Tim concluded, with a quick nod, before returning to his task. "I'm making tea," he threw, casually, over his shoulder as he retreated. "You want any?"

"Yes. Please."

Tim stopped short a second time.

That had not been Jason.


End file.
